


Mona

by wheel_pen



Series: Daisy [46]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, historical flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman comes into town who looks like someone Stefan and Damon used to know, which is never a good sign. “He was oddly tired all of a sudden, his only thought disappointment that his ‘number of days weirdness-free’ counter now had to be reset.” This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mona

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daisy, my original character, moved to Mystic Falls about a year ago. There is something special about her.
> 
> 2\. This series begins with the first season of the TV show and completely diverges about halfway through the first season. Facts revealed later on the show might not make it into this series.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This series may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

            Stefan was eating lunch with Elena at an outdoor café—or rather, watching Elena eat lunch while sipping a hot coffee—when his phone rang. It played a tinny version of ‘Bad, Bad Leroy Brown’ and he sighed, knowing it was Damon. Naturally his brother would find some way to interrupt his peaceful afternoon. He considered letting it go straight to voicemail, but Stefan wasn’t really that kind of person. Besides, if Damon really wanted to talk to him, he might show up in person and make a scene if he couldn’t reach Stefan by phone. So really it was better to answer now.

            Stefan flipped open his phone and saw that Damon had actually sent him a picture. He braced himself and pushed the button to view it. “S—t,” he blurted when he saw it.

            Elena looked up from her lunch in concern. “What’s wrong?” Stefan didn’t swear very often, especially not around her—old-fashioned manners.

            “Maybe just Damon causing trouble again,” he said, the hopeful tone in his voice incongruous with the words. He quickly dialed Damon’s number.

            His brother answered on the first ring. “So what do you think?” Damon asked in a curiously neutral tone.

            Stefan heard several thumps in the background. “Have you been playing with PhotoShop again?” he asked.

            “You see the resemblance, too,” Damon surmised, sounding oddly relieved. Stefan began to get more worried. “Anyway, where would I get a picture of Chicken Sally, moron?” he asked, back to his usual sarcasm.

            “Damon, who _is_ this woman?” Stefan demanded.

            “I met her at the gas station today,” Damon replied. “Her name is Kendra and she’s staying in town for a while to research her family history.” He paused. “Because her _ancestors_ are from Mystic Falls,” he added pointedly.

            “Yeah, I got that part,” Stefan assured him, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was oddly tired all of a sudden, his only thought disappointment that his ‘number of days weirdness-free’ counter now had to be reset. “What’s that noise?” he asked as the thumps continued.

            “I’m looking for some history stuff to show her,” Damon replied, and Stefan sighed. That meant the house was going to be a mess when he got home. “We’re meeting at the library later.”

            “She just _happened_ to come here, and just _happened_ to meet you?” Stefan pressed. He didn’t like to be the cynical one, but he could easily see his brother losing his head over this. Hopefully not literally. “What does Daisy think?”

            “She’s consulting her crystal ball,” Damon answered dismissively. “But she could be a descendent of… Midas.”

            Stefan didn’t like the hesitation in his brother’s tone. Damon didn’t usually hesitate. “Or Sally,” he supplied, a bit forcefully.

            “Yeah, or Sally,” Damon agreed. “Or she could be some shapeshifting mutant,” he added cheerfully, and Stefan was oddly relieved that Damon had at least acknowledged the possibility.

            “Be careful.”

            Damon snorted. “Do you have anything about the farm in your journals?”

            Stefan sat up straighter. “Do _not_ read my journals,” he ordered in a low voice. Elena looked up from her lunch suddenly in concern.

            “I’m not, you paranoid freak,” Damon told him with exasperation. “If I was going to just _look_ , I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

            “Well that’s comforting,” Stefan replied dryly, relaxing. “I’ll check when I get home,” he promised. “Damon, you know there’s something _off_ about this.”

            “I know, I know,” his brother sighed, as if a mere coincidence was too much to hope for. “I’ll pack a pistol in my garter.”

            “Huh, didn’t need that imagery,” Stefan decided. “You okay?” he risked after a moment. He could imagine what Damon might’ve felt when he first saw the woman, considering his own experience with Elena.

            “Oh, G-d, please don’t empathize,” Damon begged, and Stefan rolled his eyes.

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured him.

            “Empathy is sticky and stale, and it leaves a stain behind,” Damon claimed randomly.

            “Sticky, stale, staining. Got it.” Across the table Elena raised a curious eyebrow.

            Damon didn’t hang up, though, but rather stayed on the line muttering book titles to himself as he searched through the library. Stefan took it as a sign that his brother wasn’t quite as nonchalant about the encounter as he pretended. “Some of Father’s papers were up in the attic last time I checked,” he suggested helpfully.

            “Yeah? When was that?”

            “Um… 1933.”

            “It really looks like her, right?” Damon asked suddenly, the genuine question in his voice catching Stefan off-guard. “I mean, just a _little_ , like Elena looks like that girl on _Smallville_ , or… a lot?”

            “She looks a lot like Sally,” Stefan had to admit.

            “What do you know, you were only nine,” Damon scoffed. “Enjoy your lunch. Kill a bunny for me.” He hung up.

            Stefan pulled the phone away from his ear and called up the picture again, gazing at it silently for a long moment. “Who’s that?” Elena finally asked, looking over his shoulder.

            “Damon just met her today,” he replied, choosing the words carefully. He didn’t want to get into the whole thing here. “But she looks like someone we used to know.”

            “Uh-oh,” Elena responded.

            “Exactly,” he agreed.

 

_1880’s, Chicago_

            The moonlight cast long shadows in the yard of the row house, inhibiting the man’s attempt to clean up from the tasks done there earlier—there just weren’t enough hours in the day to get done what needed to be done. But that was true everywhere, and at least it was his own chores he was doing, and no one else’s.

            “Hello, Midas.”

            The man stiffened, recognizing the voice as if from a dream, and turned slowly. His eyes widened. “Master Damon?” he asked in confusion. The visitor was pale in the moonlight, wearing a natty suit in the latest style, posed in that loose-limbed, defiant way that Midas remembered.

            “How are you, Midas?” he asked. Neither man moved closer to the other.

            “Well, I’m—fine, just fine, Master Damon,” the older man assured him. “You’re lookin’ fine yourself, sir,” he ventured. “You ought to be near as old as me by now, sir. But you ain’t aged a day.” In other circumstances it might have been a polite comment. But here, it was absolutely true, and disconcerting. Midas was not one to dwell on the past, but his visitor brought the memories—largely unwelcome—rushing back.

            “And why do you think that is?” Damon asked him, with a familiar smirk.

            “Well, maybe you’re a ghost, sir,” Midas replied, and the smirk broadened. Oddly enough, it was the most diplomatic answer. “I did hear tell that you had died, sir,” Midas went on. “You and your brother, shot in the battle.”

            The smirk vanished and Midas clutched the broom handle he held even more tightly. Some of the old stories came back to him, though he doubted he could react quickly enough at his age. Damon didn’t move, though. “Yes, Stefan and I _did_ die,” he answered slowly. “So maybe I _am_ a ghost.” He was quiet for a moment, then seemed to straighten up and get on with the business at hand. “Where’s Novella?”

            Midas’s expression told him the answer before his words did. “She died two years ago. The fever.”

            “I saw Parthenia,” Damon commented off-hand. This told Midas that he’d been watching them, at least for a little while. Not comforting news, either. “Who’s the girl in the house?”

            “That’s our youngest, Mary Beth,” Midas replied, unable to keep the note of pride from his voice. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?”

            Damon nodded thoughtfully. “She reminds me of Sally,” he observed, and suddenly Midas wasn’t comfortable with this topic. “Just a little bit.” He shifted slightly and Midas glanced towards the door, which was wide open. But there was something about being safe in the house—if you didn’t invite them in—“Those children I sent with you,” Damon said suddenly, and Midas looked back at him. “What happened to them?”

            “Oh, they’s all growed now, with children of their own,” Midas replied. He risked a few shuffled steps towards the door.

            “Good. That’s all I wanted to know.”

            “Maybe you’d like to see a picture—I’ll just get one—“ Midas offered, sincere but at the same time eager to cross his own threshold again. When there was no reply, he turned back around and found the yard completely empty, the gate still shut and locked. Where Damon had been standing, though, there was a bag—of cash. And there was nothing ghostly about it.

 

            “This is weird, isn’t it?” Damon checked.

            “Yes,” Daisy confirmed. “But I won’t know _how_ weird until I actually meet her.”

            “So you’re saying we should get out of the car?” he asked dryly. They were parked in front of the town library.

            “Every journey begins with a first step,” Daisy replied with a smirk.

            “Wow, thank you, cheap motivational poster,” he quipped. “I can practically hear the seagulls crying. Here, you carry this.” He shoved a manila folder at her and got out of the car.

            “Okay. Why?” she asked, following him.

            “Because I feel dorky carrying a folder,” he admitted, hopping up the concrete steps.

            Daisy climbed them more sedately, leaving him to bounce impatiently at the top. “Well, allow me to take the burden of dorkiness off your shoulders.”

            “Thanks,” he said brightly, opening the door for her.

            They headed towards the community archives. “It’s just weird because of her appearance,” he decided. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be weird, if she was just here researching her family.”

            “It’s weird that she met you so quickly,” Daisy decided. “She showed up at the gas station _after_ you.”

            Damon couldn’t make himself find that especially suspicious. “It’s a small town,” he shrugged. The appearance thing was too distracting for him to consider much else.

            They fell silent as they reached the archives and threaded through the stacks of old newspapers and census records. At a table in the center sat a woman surrounded by books and papers, diligently scribbling something down on a notepad. She looked up and smiled at their approach and Daisy felt Damon freeze beside her. Covering for him she stepped forward smoothly and held out her hand.

            “Hi, I’m Daisy, Damon’s girlfriend.”

            “I’m Kendra,” the woman said, shaking Daisy’s hand. There was an awkward pause as Damon stared at her silently. “Um, were you able to find anything?” she asked the two of them, nodding at the folder.

            Damon snatched it from Daisy and handed it to Kendra. “Yeah, I’ve got some old deeds here, and some old diary entries about life on the farm…”

            “Sorry, I guess there’s no delicate way to say this,” Daisy commented—delicately—“but _his_ ancestors owned _your_ ancestors?”

            Kendra didn’t seem offended, though. “Yeah, as near as I can figure,” she agreed matter-of-factly. “Before the Civil War some of my ancestors were slaves on the Salvatore farm here in Mystic Falls, not long after the town was founded.” She opened the folder. “I’m really excited to learn more about them.”

            “Do you mind if I take a look at what you’ve collected so far?” Daisy asked politely, indicating the papers on the table. “I love genealogy and history.”

            “Sure, go ahead,” Kendra agreed as she and Damon sat down with the folder between them.

            Not looking at her was probably the better way to go. “The Salvatore farm was fairly small and they only had a few slaves,” he explained. “Here’s an inventory from 1862.” But not looking was also very difficult.

            “What beautiful handwriting people had back then,” Kendra commented and Damon saw Daisy smirking behind her. “Here they are,” Kendra announced. “Novella and her son Midas. And Parthenia.”

            “Midas’s wife,” Damon agreed. So she was Midas’s descendent after all. He felt strangely relieved by this. And yet… The way her eyes caught the light, the quickness of her hands, reminded him so strongly of Sally, he found himself almost hoping for a stronger connection.

            Kendra seemed oblivious to his odd behavior, being too enthralled by the family documents. “Near the end of the Civil War they went to Chicago,” she informed him, tracing her fingers over the Xerox of the inventory. “They had… five children who survived to adulthood. I’d managed to work my way back to Chicago, but records from during and before the war are hard to come by.”

            “It was a chaotic time,” Damon said simply.

            “What’s this?” She indicated another packet of papers in the folder and had to wait a beat before he blinked and answered instead of gazing at her.

            “Those are some diary entries from about 1901,” he finally told her. “They were written by one of the sons of the farm’s owner. I guess he was feeling nostalgic at the turn of the century,” he added with a smirk, “and wrote down a lot of his childhood memories. Midas and Novella are mentioned a few times.”

            “Which son?” Kendra asked with a frown. “I thought they were both killed in the Battle of Mystic Falls.”

            “Yes, there’s some confusion about that,” Damon understated. “The diary was written by Stefan Salvatore, the younger son. So obviously he survived. The older brother, Damon—he definitely died.” If there was anything odd about his tone, Kendra didn’t pick up on it. Daisy gave him a concerned glance, though. “My brother and I are carrying on the family names,” he added, more sardonically.

            “I found several birth records with Lucia Molinari as the mother,” Kendra told him, quickly connecting dots in her head. Her passion for this personal detective work was genuine, and infectious. “In some places they were conscientious about putting the mother’s maiden name, so I’m sure it’s the same person. Maybe there were more than two sons—“

            “High infant mortality,” Damon agreed flatly. “And infant deaths weren’t always well-recorded. Did you know that they even named _two_ of their sons Damon? One died as a baby, so they gave the name to the next boy who came along. Makes things even more confusing.”

            Kendra froze as she uncovered a new piece of paper in the folder. “A bill of sale,” she realized. She seemed amazed and yet horrified at the same time. “1846. For the purchase of Novella and her two children.”

            “Right, there’s Midas—he was six—and her daughter Sally,” Damon pointed out. His voice was carefully, forcibly neutral. “She was about ten.”

            “Chicken Sally,” Kendra read from the form. Damon shrugged; slaves were often given strange names, which Kendra no doubt already knew from her research. “She wasn’t on the 1862 inventory,” she observed.

            Damon’s jaw tightened slightly. “No, she’d been sold by then. I think,” he tacked on.

            “Do you have any more information about her?” Kendra asked intently, looking through the other documents he’d copied for her. “She’s actually my direct ancestor, well, and then Novella before her, of course.”

            Damon’s eyes flared and he gripped the edge of the table so hard Daisy feared for its integrity. “Excuse me,” she said quickly to Kendra, “but who are these pictures of? I can’t quite read the handwriting.”

            Kendra turned away to identify the people with their heavy glasses and stiff smiles, school photos from the 1960’s or so. After a few moments Damon calmed down enough to speak, releasing the table from his death grip.

            “What do you already know about Chicken Sally?” he asked, perhaps unwisely.

            Kendra shrugged a little, facing him again. “She joined Midas and Novella in Chicago after the War,” she offered. “She worked as a cook at a hotel.”

            “And clearly she had children,” Damon encouraged. If he had a heart, it would be pounding right now.

            “Well, one child,” Kendra corrected. “Who then went on to have _eight_ children.”

            “She married someone in Chicago?” Damon pressed. Daisy gave him a little warning look over Kendra’s head, but the other woman didn’t seem to notice his unusual level of interest as she shifted through her own papers intently. Genealogy buffs could get a little obsessive.

            “She wasn’t married,” Kendra remembered, “or at least there’s no record of it. She brought the child with her to Chicago—must’ve been born before the War.”

            “I know a story about Chicken Sally,” Damon began slowly, and Kendra looked up in interest. “It’s mentioned in that diary,” he said, indicating the pages Stefan had written, “but it’s been… _told_ in our family for a long time.” She waited expectantly. “Chicken Sally was very beautiful, so they say. And one of the Salvatore boys kind of had a crush on her.” He rolled his eyes slightly at the terminology. “I mean, it wasn’t like the way it was with a lot of slaves and owners,” he hastened to add. “They really liked each other. And he was just a kid. And one day his father caught them in the barn together.” Kendra nodded pensively. “They both got beaten, and then the father took a red-hot poker and burned Sally’s face with it, saying that she would never be pretty to anyone again.” He stated this flatly, with a faraway look in his eyes. He could see the scars on her face now, the face that was so much like Kendra’s.

            “Is that when she was sold?” Kendra asked quietly.

            “Almost,” Damon added, straightening up a little and coming back to the present. “The boy went to see her again, even though she was scarred, because he didn’t care if she wasn’t beautiful anymore, and the father decided he needed to get rid of her completely. That’s when he sold her. To a plantation in Mississippi. Or something like that.”

            “When was this?” Kendra asked, digging through her papers again.

            “1856,” Damon answered, too easily.

            She seemed very excited about something. “Her daughter was supposed to be seven or eight at the end of the War,” Kendra reported. “And about the only thing mentioned about her father is that the girl was named for him. Here it is.” She spread a copy of a family tree from the front of a Bible on the table before Damon. “Look, Sally named her daughter Mona. Was the son Damon Salvatore, the older one? Maybe we’re actually related! Damon, Mona, it’s kind of similar--” When there was no answer she glanced up to see Damon frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock. “Are you okay?” Kendra asked in concern.

            Suddenly Damon relaxed. “Yeah. Wow, that’s amazing,” he told her in a mellow tone, as though her news were a mere curiosity. “Never saw that one coming.”

            “Unfortunately we have to get going,” Daisy intervened. “Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” she asked Kendra. “There’s other historical documents at the house, and maybe Damon’s brother Stefan will join us. We could have a genealogy geek party,” she added in a light tone.

            “Sure, that sounds great,” Kendra agreed happily. “Thanks again for bringing me these,” she added to Damon, tapping the folder.

            Daisy touched his shoulder, encouraging him to stand up. “No problem,” he assured her in a slightly flat tone. “I’ll see what else I can find.”

            “It was nice to meet you, Kendra,” Daisy told her politely. “I’ll call tomorrow about dinner, okay?”

            “Okay. Thanks!”

            Daisy maneuvered Damon out of the archives section and across the main library towards the doors. “I feel a little strange,” he commented, his posture still relaxed. “Are you doing something to me?”

            “Yes I am,” Daisy confirmed, steering him down the stairs. “I’m helping you stay calm. Is that okay?”

            “Sure,” Damon shrugged, getting into the car. “I thought the effect would be subtler.”

            Daisy rolled her eyes at the insult as he pointed the car towards home. “Normally it would be, but I decided you needed an extra-strength dose to avoid frightening anyone.”

            “Cool,” Damon judged, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music just barely audible over the radio. “What are we having for dinner tomorrow?”

            “I was thinking spaghetti,” Daisy answered, keeping a close eye on him. “Maybe some garlic bread.”

            “Oh the irony,” he remarked pleasantly.

            “Once we get home I’m going to ease up on it,” Daisy warned, “and you aren’t going to feel so good.”

            “I don’t really feel good _now_ ,” Damon countered, though you wouldn’t know it from his tone. “I feel like I have a head cold, if I’m remembering that feeling right. Kind of disoriented and fuzzy.”

            “Well, we’re almost home, baby,” she assured him, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “Yeah, I don’t like this feeling,” Damon decided a few minutes later as they pulled into the garage. “I can see that Stefan’s home but I can’t think of anything mean to say about him.”

            Stefan was standing in the middle of the living room reading a book when Damon and Daisy walked in. Sometimes he got so absorbed that he forgot to sit down, which of course didn’t really bother him at all but could look strange to others. “How’d it go?” he asked, glancing up in curiosity.

            Daisy settled Damon on the couch. “Could you get him a drink?” she requested of Stefan. “He’s gonna need it.”

            “Are you easing up?” Damon asked, noticing the tension building up in himself.

            “Yes,” Daisy confirmed, heading for the computer. “I’m gonna put her family tree into the program.” As a precaution they had started collecting genealogy information on significant people in town, hoping to avoid any more family lineage surprises.

            Stefan brought his brother a drink and watched him knock it back before Stefan had even sat down beside him. “So, how did it go?” he repeated gingerly, assuming _something_ about it had _not_ gone well.

            “F—k!” Damon suddenly shouted, burying his face in his hands. Stefan watched him warily. “F—k. She’s—I—Sally had a daughter,” he finally coughed out.

            “That this woman is descended from?” Stefan surmised.

            “ _Yes_ ,” Damon snapped, as though he were an idiot for needing it confirmed. He twitched on the couch, starting to stand then dropping back down again.

            Stefan clearly wasn’t understanding why this was so agitating for his brother. “So Sally had a daughter after she was sold,” he repeated expectantly.

            “I never—I thought she—maybe she was dead, or—“ Damon muttered, more to himself.

            “Not _long_ after she was sold,” Daisy hinted from the computer.

            Stefan’s eyes widened as he finally understood. “F—k,” he agreed in shock. After a moment he slid his arm around Damon’s shoulders and was even more worried when it wasn’t rebuffed immediately.

            “I could’ve—in Mississippi—or Chicago, even—“ Damon continued brokenly, unable to sit still. It seemed like he wanted to run in a million directions all at once and couldn’t decide which to start with. “And no one ever said—why didn’t he _say_ —I just let her go,” he said distinctly, staring ahead at nothing.

            Whether he was talking about Sally or the child wasn’t clear, but either way Stefan felt for him—Damon could be such a b-----d sometimes, but his reaction now showed that he was still capable of caring about others. Stefan might even have called him heartbroken. “You didn’t know,” he reminded him in a low tone. “You didn’t know, or—“

            “I would’ve—“

            “—you would’ve done something,” Stefan agreed. Maybe it wouldn’t have been something _good_ , considering Damon’s state of mind for a while after being turned; but they could pretend for the moment. “She was okay,” Stefan reminded him. And then all of a sudden it hit him: they were talking about his niece, whom he’d never known about. He had to stop a moment to steady his own voice. “She must’ve been okay, she had children of her own—“

            “She had _eight_ children,” Daisy supplied. She could be more matter-of-fact about the issue since Stefan was doing the comforting at the moment. “She was married to Michael Bennett.”

            “Holy _f—k_!” was Damon’s reaction.

            Stefan wasn’t sure his brother could take any more shocks. “Emily’s son? That Damon sent north with Midas and Parthenia?” In the hopes that preserving her line would allow him to see Katherine again someday—at this point the irony was too thick to even swim in.

            “Sally and her daughter joined them in Chicago after the War,” Daisy explained. She looked up at Stefan. “One of their other descendents?” He had a feeling what name she was going to say, and almost wished she wouldn’t. “Bonnie Bennett.”

            “Am I being announced now?” Bonnie joked, walking into the room with Elena. With a frightening noise somewhere between a growl and a shout Damon leaped off the couch and shot straight upstairs. “Uh, what was that?” Bonnie asked, taking some offense. Elena looked worriedly at Stefan, who seemed slightly shaken himself.

            Daisy popped up from the computer. “Bonnie, we’re having someone over to dinner tomorrow night,” she said, then added to Stefan, “I hope that’s okay.”

            “Yeah, sure,” he agreed immediately.

            “I hope you’ll join us,” Daisy went on to Bonnie, who seemed rather bemused by this point. “Our guest is a distant relative of yours. Of course, Stefan and Elena, you might like to meet her, too.” Without waiting for their answers she headed for the stairs. “I’d better go check on him.”

            “ _What_ is going on?” Bonnie demanded of Stefan as Daisy retreated.

            Damon was face down on his bed, motionless, when Daisy slipped into his bedroom. She sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress and he crawled forward to rest his head in her lap, his arms tight around her.

            She rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s okay—“

            “It’s _not_ okay,” he snapped, his voice thick. “Or maybe—I don’t know,” he admitted hopelessly. “I don’t know if it’s okay or not.” Daisy nodded and just kept stroking his back. Finally he spoke again. “I had—I had a—“

            “You had a daughter,” Daisy said in a warm tone, when he couldn’t seem to get the word out. He tensed as she said it, his strength enough to crush a normal human. “You had a daughter, and she had eight children, and now your family has dozens of members, all across the country.” She said all this as though it was the best news Damon could receive, even as he groaned in pain. “And while you were fulfilling your promise to Emily and looking after her descendents, you were looking after your own, too.”

            After a moment he turned his head and said, in a mean and thus familiar tone, “I wish Sheila were still alive. I wish I could see the old bat’s face when she realized I was her— _ancestor_.”

            Daisy smiled a little, but she sensed his mood drop again. “We’ll find out more about Mona,” she promised. “Maybe Kendra has more information.”

            “It’s just, I—I could’ve— _seen_ her, talked to her,” Damon mumbled against Daisy’s leg. “Made sure—but I didn’t— _care_ —“ He paused to swallow hard. “I kept my promise to Emily. That little b---h,” he added harshly. “I watched over her family, I made sure they had money, I—I didn’t _care_ , I just did it because I wanted Katherine back.”

            “You didn’t have to do that, baby,” Daisy reminded him gently. “You thought you were going to take the crystal and open the tomb, with no further need for Emily or her descendents. You didn’t _have_ to keep your promise to her. But you did.”

            “Well, you never know with witches,” he sighed. “She might’ve built some kind of check in.” An idea suddenly occurred to him. “Is Kendra a witch?”

            “Yes.”

            “I spawned a f-----g line of _witches_ ,” he groused.

            “Well, at least they aren’t werewolves,” Daisy remarked lightly. He seemed to agree.

            “Why didn’t she—think I was strange?” Damon asked after a moment. The witches he had met were always able to tell there was something off about him.

            “You must not have touched her at the gas station,” Daisy decided, “and at the library I shielded you once I realized what she was.”

            “Did she really just come here to look for her family?”

            “Yes,” Daisy judged. “I think she knows more about her history than she’s let on. I think she knows something about Emily, and that’s why she’s here. But her surprise when you talked about Sally was genuine.”

            There was a long silence. “I just can’t imagine it,” Damon said softly. “Having a…” Daisy smiled sadly above him. “I would’ve—and back then—I wouldn’t have let her consort with _witches_ ,” he decided with some finality, and Daisy couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that.

            “I bet she was a little h—l-raiser like you,” she predicted fondly. Damon snorted. Then his mind turned back to the things he _could’ve_ done, _might’ve_ done, and his muscles tensed under her hands again. “Oh, baby…” she sighed.

            “Don’t take away my pain,” he ordered, gripping her tightly. “It’s—all I have. Of her.”

            “I won’t,” Daisy promised. “It’ll ease up on its own. If you let it.” But Damon was very good at holding on to his pain.


End file.
